


Melody

by Colaris



Category: Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Music, Romance, Sad, Scriddler, riddlecrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27899236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colaris/pseuds/Colaris
Summary: The silence of the night is only disturbed by a beautiful melody.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane & Edward Nygma
Kudos: 5
Collections: A crow finds a riddle in the dark





	Melody

“Temperatures below ten degrees Celsius are expected this night. For this reason, homeless people in particular should better stay at a warm plac..." Edward switched off the small portable radio, slowly leaned back against the back of the chair. Winter had Gotham City in its icy hands and was unwilling to let go of the poor inhabitants anytime soon. As if to confirm, a thick layer of snow had lay on the otherwise dirty streets since early morning and successfully concealed the disgusting sight of a neglected city. The tinkerer rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The state of the metropolis was more than worrying, but who could do anything about it? Nobody was willing to intervene and if someone really tried, the person failed sooner or later because of the leading personalities in the cursed council. The gentlemen hated change. The Riddler slowly crossed his arms over his chest, turned his face to the two large casement windows and stared out at the white landscape. Even at dawn the pristine snow was beautiful to look at. Absolutely breathtaking. The white ceiling sparkled under the last rays of the passing sun. The young man pressed the air out of his lungs. A deceptive beauty when you recalled that every year in the cold months, a huge number of people died in the slums and had to wait frozen in state for spring, only to be found by the foul smelling of the slowly rotting body. The raven-haired man snorted softly and watched the light snowfall, saw how little mountains gradually piled up. That was probably the only benefit that living outside the center offered. While on the busy streets of Gotham the snowflakes turned into unsightly mud in no time at all, they lay untouched and pure near the forest on the ground. In general, the world around the inventor seemed to have stopped for several weeks. Edward put his hands on the back of his head and bit his lower lip lightly. On some days he missed the usual liveliness of the city, but now he also appreciated the tranquility of the suburbs. It had been a constant learning process for him. Initially, the Riddler had immense difficulties withstanding the unnatural silence and not constantly filling half the house with loud, unfitting music, which had often made his partner particularly incandescent. The raven-haired man opened his mouth slightly, felt the cold creep between his teeth. It had taken almost five months before he could linger in the almost noiseless environment without feeling uncomfortable.

As soon as nothing distracted him, his thoughts usually began to circle and literally hit him - until he either ended up in a weeping heap of rubble or thrown himself helplessly into overwhelming work. Jonathan recognized this fact relatively quickly. Well, that wasn't a big surprise. He was a psychiatrist, after all. Together with his partner, the inventor was able to break this devil's spiral in the end. Edward got up with a small grunt and walked through the messy workshop, carefully stepping over piles of scraps of metal on the dusty floor. Edward had no muse to clean up. He also mastered chaos better than anyone, so why bother and create order that wasn't necessary? He strolled into the adjacent kitchen and stopped at the large table in the middle. A small, brightly painted bowl caught his attention. Fragrant biscuits. The man touched the warm pastries and smiled in amusement, then finally stole one of the golden yellow thalers. He nibbled on the biscuit, occasionally wiping the tiny crumbs off his face. The Master of Fear was an extremely arranged baker and, above all, an unbeatably talented cook. Something the inventor was actually benefit from. He could swing the wooden spoon reasonably well himself, but spending hours in the kitchen and wasting his precious time was just not his thing. He was all the happier about the fact that his better half dutifully took on this task. The raven-haired man took another biscuit for a small afternoon snack and left the kitchen with quick steps. Was Jonathan in his study? Since the former psychiatrist had completely renounced crime, he has consciously looked for new tasks to meaningfully fill the sudden void in his new life. It had been an unexpectedly tough realization for the brown-haired man that his admittedly rather staged existence as a respected villain in the underground was based on a simple feeling: unbridled hatred through years of disappointment. In the end, Scarecrow had gradually alienated himself to a point at which he could no longer see his old self in the mirror.

The tinkerer still remembered the sultry day in summer when his partner asked out of the blue whether there was any chance for him to make peace with his troubled past. From that moment on, the raven-haired man stood by his side and discussed with Jonathan why his life had gotten so off the rails. Killer Croc was minimally to blame for this drastic development. The stones for the very destructive path of the former psychiatrist had been laid long before the incident with the hungry crocodile. The inventor looked curiously into the older man's spacious study and was slightly startled. Nobody to see. He shrugged slightly and searched the rest of the first floor, then paused for a moment in the entrance hall of the house. To his surprise, the other's shoes were missing from the black doormat. Edward opened the heavy wooden door and stared out into the twilight, seeing suspicious but slowly fading prints in the otherwise untouched snow. They clearly led in the direction of the forest. He grabbed his winter jacket from the clothes rack and slipped into his heavy work boots, then quickly looked for a scarf and gloves from the chest of drawers. He hurried out into the merciless cold, trying not to lose sight of the shoe prints under the heavier snowfall. The young man trudged through the white landscape, trembling again and again as the icy wind seized his body. Only when he reached the shelter of the trees it finally become more bearable. The raven-haired man followed the tracks and wandered through the dark forest, cursing himself for not having taken a lantern with him. Even a small flashlight would have been extremely useful now. However, turning back was no longer an option for the inventor. Presumably the hardly visible prints would have disappeared completely after his return. The Riddler huffed heavily and dragged himself through the masses of snow, occasionally brushing the white powder off his knees. After a while an unfamiliar sound settled in his ears. He stopped abruptly and slowly closed his eyes, listening in disbelief to the soft melody. Clearly a violin. Edward frowned. He finally fought his way through the gradually falling night and reached the stony wall of the old, long-abandoned cemetery. The young man came closer to the source of the music with every step now. An all-consuming blackness had enveloped the long-forgotten gravestones and seemed no longer to want to release the nameless dead in this place into the forgiving light.

The raven-haired man walked carefully over the abandoned burial site, trying not to trip over roots or other obstacles on his way. Suddenly he saw a faint light in the distance. The Riddler gasped slightly and moved purposefully towards the impressive mausoleum in the middle of the cemetery. From here it was probably only a stone's throw to the origin of the melody. The tinkerer wandered around the great tomb and instantly froze at the unexpected sight behind it. He blinked slightly, believing for a moment that his mind was trying to trick him, as it often does. The Master of Fear stood on one of the innumerable, neglected resting places, only illuminated by the ancient lantern next to the splintered tombstone. The healthy eye was relaxed and closed and formed a strong contrast to the constantly open, gray opal, which was dead and rigid in the eye socket of the skull. In his left hand Jonathan was holding an antique-looking violin, the other hand led the accompanying bow with elegant movements over the strings of the instrument. Edward couldn't help but just look at him speechless. Did the former psychiatrist ever mention that he could make music? The young man breathed a little faster, watched white mist rising from his nose. It was unspeakably cold, but at that moment all the ice in his body seemed to melt away and to disappear under the gentle sounds of the music. The atmosphere was saturated with an unknown harmony that the inventor had never felt before in the presence of the older man. Contrary to his wish to just keep watching his partner, he strolled slowly through the snow towards him. The brown-haired man suddenly stopped in his play and opened his eye, searched the cemetery for the unexpected troublemaker. As he spotted his lover he lowered the violin slowly. The younger one shook his head slightly and spoke louder than planned: “Please don't let my presence stop you, John. Keep playing.”

The other just stared at him in silence, his body visibly chilled from the cold around him. The blue veins protruded from his demolished skin. Although he was wearing his black coat, it did not offer any protection against the freezing temperatures. The Riddler pressed his lips tightly together and began to shiver barely noticeably. Had he really destroyed this unique moment by his possibly unwanted presence? The inventor walked hesitantly towards his partner and came to a stop immediately in front of him. The former psychiatrist still hadn't moved an inch. What the hell was going on in his twisted mind? Edward tried to manage a small smile, but failed because of a strange feeling in his chest. The surroundings were saturated with wavering, unspoken, maybe even long repressed emotions and every verbal utterance of those present seemed completely inappropriate. Words couldn't do justice to this meaningful situation. The raven-haired man slowly closed his eyes and breathed a little lower than before, waiting for a reaction from his partner in the almost noiseless night. There were endless minutes of absolute silence around them. The tinkerer was about to give up and go back to the house when suddenly the melancholy play of the violin sounded again. The young man shivered in excitement. He opened his eyes almost cautiously, afraid that this slight movement in his face would ruin the moment again. Contrary to his fear, the older one continued to play, his facial expressions more relaxed than ever before in their long-term relationship. Jonathan's hand guided the bow over the thin strings with unimaginable gentleness, creating a dark and at the same time uniquely beautiful melody. Edward instantly lost himself in the depth of the music. The cemetery, actually a sign of inevitable impermanence, suddenly came to life. The Riddler sank to the ground, sat down in the cold snow in front of the former psychiatrist. He watched the thin man with pure and absolute honest fascination.

A light breeze found its way through the graves and finally danced around the thin figure of the Master of Fear, lifting the long cloak slightly into the air. The Scarecrows nostrils kept piling up thick fog, gradually mingling with the white snowflakes above him. At this unique moment, Jonathan looked like a fallen angel of death, who played the last song for the dead at this resting place. Edward put his chin on his knees and listened to the comforting sounds of the violin, finally allowing himself to be led into dreaming. After a while, however, the older one slowed down and ended his own composed masterpiece with a drawn out tone. The silence fell over the cemetery again, giving way to the unmistakable truth that life in this place had come to an end. The former psychiatrist pushed his breath steadily out of his lungs, then stepped up to his partner in no hurry. The Riddler watched as the gaunt man sat down in the snow in front of him and put the instrument carefully in his lap. He touched the tinkerer's oil-smeared hands, held them in the soft glow of the lantern without speaking a single word. The raven-haired man felt that this moment was something special. Something none of them could pinpoint. Edward returned the gentle pressure on his hands and looked into the blue eyes of the Master of Fear, immediately sank into the depths of the healthy opal. The snow finally covered their bodies under the veil of the hidden, preventing outsiders further glimpses of the intimate togetherness of the lovers.


End file.
